Take My Heart, Burn My Soul
by Chronic Potterphile
Summary: Cas recovers from Rowena's spell. Dean tries to sort out his feelings. Sam takes a decision that will change everything. [Post episode 10.23, the first fic of a 'verse. Destiel, loads of brotherly love and character whumpage].


**A/N:** And, here's another fic. :) This is for SPNxBookworm/Sanjana, as a gift for completing her first year in med school! Please go over to her page and check out her stuff! She just posted a new fic called 'Hey Brother', one of the best I've read. :)

And now, about this one. This is a new 'verse I'm starting. I hope you enjoy this first installment! It is set after s10e23, Brother's Keeper, and deals with things I wanna resolve between my favourite characters, because I know Show won't do that. I might apply some spoilers when we get them from cons but I've not really thought that out yet. The fics will all either be one-shots or short multi-chaptered.

There is slash: Destiel, but in this particular fic it's pre-slash, and I hope to develop it as I proceed. Of course, if you've read any other of my stories, you'll know that I'll also have plenty of SamnDean brotherliness and that there will be loads of Sam love.

For this first one, Sam is a little scarce and the brothers are having a kind-of a fallout, but I hope the next few installments will clear it up.

 **Warnings:** Swearing, suicide attempt.

I really hope you'll enjoy this!

* * *

 **Take My Heart, Burn My Soul**

Blood.

There's blood everywhere.

 _Kill him._

The voice whispers into his ear, tangles of want licking at him like warm flames, and he clutches the Blade. It's all red. Everything around him is red.

Blood.

 _Kill him._

"Dean."

His mind blurs it all, but he can see Sam. He can see his brother. And Sam's jaw is down, hanging there, surprised, eyes wide, and hair dishevelled.

 _Kill him._

Dean takes a step closer to his brother. Sam is so human. So fragile. Such a weak, weak thing. He's just flesh and blood and bones. _Weak._

"Dean, listen. Dean…"

The blood is easy to drain. A cut on the neck; his carotid, or jugular, and he's gone.

 _Kill. Killkill. Kill now!_

"Dean!"

Peel off the skin gently with the blade, in a skimming motion. Like peeling potatoes. Dice the flesh and pull it out.

"Please, man."

Bones can be snapped. Broken. They're so easy. Sam is so easy.

"Drop the Blade. Dean, it's me. Dean…"

Sam needs to be dead.

The Blade points to Sam, who hasn't even moved back, but has his hands up, in defence. "Listen to me, Dean," he says, voice echoing through Dean's ear and then his whole body. "Don't. You don't want to do this."

Dean's face is splitting into a sneer. His nerves crackle with want, the Blade whispering to him to be used. Again. He raises his hand, ready to strike, and then, suddenly, like a plunger being pulled away, it's all draining out, his energy, his high, and Sam is getting sharper and sharper, and Dean can see the red rims of his brother's eyes, as well as the tears on his cheek.

And that's when he looks down, at his feet. At Cas. Cas, who is dead. Cas, who Dean killed in just one stroke—one plunge of the Blade. One minute.

 _Kill him._

"Dean?"

Sam is by his side as Dean sways, shock and realisation hitting him all at once, the stench of blood swirling in the placental air around him, and that's when he turns to Sam.

 _Kill him._

The Blade is inside Sam before Dean can control himself, or before Sam can stop it.

 _DeanDeanDeanDean._

Dean opens his eyes, and wakes up with a start.

 **~o~**

He was in the car, prone on the backseat, his face pressed into a lap. A hand rested lightly on his forehead. Up ahead, Sam had his hands on the steering, but his eyes kept turning back, at Dean.

Dean rubbed at his chin, feeling the burn of the fabric from Sam's jacket when he'd held Dean up. The air around them was cold, even though the Impala had its heater on full blast, the speed crossing all limits as Sam whizzed it through the dark roads.

"Dean."

Castiel's voice was more gravelly than usual, his hand moving over Dean's hair for a moment, and then over Dean's eyes as he smoothed them shut.

The next thing he knew, they weren't moving anymore.

Dean woke up with a start as the car lurched to a halt, not realising that he'd fallen asleep. He blinked bleary eyes, feeling Castiel's weight shift.

"Are you sure you want to get off?" Sam was asking.

"Yes."

There was a pause. "Is he still asleep?"

Dean felt a pair of eyes on him. "No," Castiel replied. His lips pulled into a tired smile. "I have to go hide the Blade, Dean."

"Okay."

Dean's head was lowered into leather and he curled his legs in, breathing in the familiar scent of his upholstery and listening to the Impala's rumbles and groans as they pulled away. He fell asleep again, feeling Cas's phantom hand smooth his eyes shut, and he didn't wake up until they reached the bunker.

 **~o~**

Sam is by Dean's side, his instincts alerting him almost instantly to the fact that Dean just had a nightmare. He's been dozing in another corner of the room and even though it's dark and Dean can barely make out the silvery border of Sam's face from the faint light at the doorway, he thinks he can see the bruises, blue and green and yellow, smattered all over Sam's face.

The bruises that Dean gave his brother. If he weren't so angry, so goddamned angry at Sammy, Dean would be sorry. If every instinct in him didn't make him want to ask Sam for forgiveness again, Dean wouldn't be so furious.

However, Sam, the fucking bastard, already gave it to him. Sam gave Dean what he didn't deserve; time and again, he forgave Dean for everything. For _everything_. Right now, though, Dean doesn't want to give the same to Sam.

"Dean," Sam murmurs, oblivious to what Dean's thinking, and to the lump in Dean's throat, "he hasn't woken up all this while. I'm keeping watch. Go back to sleep."

Dean's eyes rove over to the bed in front of him, as Sam gives him two light pats on his shoulder. Dean flinches away at the touch and the moment he does that, he can physically feel Sam's own shoulders slumping, posture drooping as he remembers that Dean is still angry.

"I'll keep watch," Sam says, and Dean nods, swallowing, trying to stop his heart from exploding with everything that's going on right now, because he cannot physically handle all these emotions at once.

But, he looks at Sam and nods. "Okay."

Sam can't really see his face either, but Dean hears the slightest breath of a chuckle. Sam is relieved. Relieved that Dean isn't going to ask him to die, or hope that he were suffering instead of Cas.

"Just get some shuteye, jerk."

Dean doesn't say 'bitch'. He's too tired.

 **~o~**

Dean didn't see Cas for a long time after Cain's death. A strange longing sat in his stomach, heavy and uncomfortable and sometimes, he found himself itching to call Cas or try to contact him, somehow (he could message; Cas liked emojis), but he didn't. Cas was doing his own thing. Cas was also kind-of a dad now. Kind-of. He was, and he felt responsible for a wayward teenage girl.

So he didn't talk to Cas much. Dean didn't talk to anyone much. Sam did his thing, went to screenings of French movies that were apparently very interesting, and Dean was thankful that his own nightmares weren't waking Sam up. That was the last thing he needed right now: for Sam to get more worried; especially since his brother seemed to be teetering on the edge of his own meltdown of late.

Sam thought Dean didn't notice all that, but he did. He so did.

 _I've known you thirty-three years, Sammy._

It was a break from their whole cycle of nightmares and worrying once they destroyed the Book of the Damned. Charlie and Cas had decided to spend the weekend at the bunker, and they'd had pizza and beer and gotten mildly tipsy, though Sam was still pretty angst-ridden even buzzed.

Charlie pulled Dean aside when they stumbled back to their rooms. "Don't be too hard on him, Dean," she said.

"Who?"

"Sam," she replied, rolling her eyes. "He's not—you know, having it easy either."

Dean cast an eye on Sam's room and saw the light seeping from the gap beneath the door as he recollected their argument from earlier that day. About when Sam had said that he wouldn't save Dean. He looked back at Charlie and shrugged. "Some things I can't forget, you know."

She shook her head at him, eyes sad. "You don't get it. I've never seen him like that."

"Like what?"

Charlie brushed back a red fringe and sighed. "I don't… I can't push you into understanding. It's between you two anyway, so just…" her gaze met his, "you two have a problem, you know. Of not bothering to step into each other's shoes."

Dean snorted. "What's mine is his, Charlie. Every part of this crappy life that I live, he lives too."

"No," she said. "No. That's where both of you are wrong."

"Charlie…"

"Don't 'Charlie' me!" she said, brows contracting in a glare. "You two are the biggest idiots I've ever laid my eyes on."

He chuckled. "Okay. Sorry. Will you explain?"

"No." She crossed her arms across her chest. "I'm not interfering with that clusterfuck right there."

"Hey!"

"Honestly, Dean, no. You two have to talk."

"Yeah, but—"

"Good night."

And with the last of that cryptic speech, she left for the room that they'd cleaned up and prepared for her.

 **~o~**

"Hundred and nine," Sam mumbles tiredly, stumbling to the corner beside Dean. "I think he needs the hospital," he says as he sets the thermometer on the floor between them.

"Is hundred and nine even a temperature? You toasted to about hundred and seven and that was during the trials when you were…" _dying_. Dean doesn't say that last word. "But—but you got better anyway…"

"He needs help," Sam says to him, and there's worry in his voice—Dean can tell from the slight tremble in it. Somewhere, all the anger for Sam drains away from Dean at the tone of his voice. He knows Sam's banking on him to make things okay, confident in his own little-brotherly instinct that Dean knows a way out of this.

 _Like he did with Death._

 _No._

Dean washes a hand down his face, throwing the memory away somewhere and willing himself not to think of it as he looks at the bed. "We should at least run him an ice bath."

Sam interlaces his fingers and places them on the back of his neck as he stretches it backwards, earning a few crunches and cracks as his first couple of vertebrae slide into place. "All right," he says. "You get his clothes off, I'll get the bath ready."

Dean swallows and glances at the bed, at Castiel. "Sam, I don't think—"

"Hey." Sam's voice is soft, and Dean looks into his brother's sympathetic eyes. "I'm sure he's forgiven you, Dean." It's a plea, a request from Sam for Dean to forgive him too; but Dean isn't sure if he has it in him yet.

He gulps again, thinks of everything he's done, and—

"I don't know."

Sam's hand is on Dean's shoulder. Dean congratulates himself when he doesn't flinch. "Cas needs help. And Dean, he's not like you or I." He smiles. "He's forgiven you. He was never angry."

Accusation. Dean can feel it. Sam is pleading (Dean, forgive me. Cas did it too).

However, Dean isn't ready. Instead, he thinks of what Sam just said about Cas forgiving him.

"He told you about that?"

"I know." Sam's voice is anticipatory, like he's expecting, that at any moment—

"Okay."

The sick pleasure that comes at the blow he's delivered to Sam, like a punch in the gut, is the best and the most terrible thing that Dean has ever experienced.

 **~o~**

Charlie hefted up her backpack, holding up her hand in a Vulcan salute to Cas, Sam, and Dean. "See ya, bitches."

Sam let out a huff of laughter as he moved forward to hug her. "Take care, okay?"

"You know I will," she replied, hugging him back, and accepting the kiss on her forehead. "Let me know when you guys find another way to get that Mark off, and I'll hop in to help."

"And beware of the Stynes, kiddo," Dean perked up from his place. "You think they're catching your trail again, you call us. Get it?"

She nodded, pushing her hair out of her eyes. "Sure thing." She smiled again, and bit her lip as she paused. "Hey Dean, a word?"

Dean raised an eyebrow and uncrossed his arms. "Yeah. Tell me."

"Outside."

He glanced around at Sam and Cas, and shrugged. "Okay. Come on."

After Charlie had given a quick hug to Castiel, they left the bunker together, and Dean carried her duffel upstairs, wondering what she wanted to talk about. She looked at him, shifting unsurely as he put her stuff in her car, and then turned around, hands on his hips. "Is this about Sammy again?"

She pressed her lips together. "No…"

Dean raised his eyebrows questioningly, waiting for her to continue.

"It's Cas."

He grinned, relieved. No lecture, then. "Oh. Don't worry. If it's the personal space thing, he kinda has a problem."

Charlie smiled back at Dean. "I think the personal space thing is all yours, dude."

"What?"

"Oh come on, don't pretend. You're talking to a lesbian here."

Dean opened his mouth once, and shut it. Charlie turned to her car, sun glinting red off her hair as she flashed Dean a surprised look. "You don't know!"

"Don't know what?"

"Jesus, Dean, how long have you known this dude?"

"Who, Cas?"

"Who else?"

Dean folded his arms and squinted. "Eight years?"

"And you never once thought that the eye-fucking wasn't what regular people did?"

"Eye—" Dean frowned at her. "Wait."

"That's Destiel right there," Charlie told him happily. "I didn't know that Edlund wrote you as oblivious because you really are. I thought you and Sam might not want to tell me because it's your life, and maybe Edlund wanted some spice in the romance aspect but—"

"Charlie," Dean sighed, "Sam and I have already been through this once this year. I don't know what those books say, but—"

"Screw the books, Dean," she said softly, interrupting him. "Just open your eyes, okay? And when you figure it out, we'll talk."

"Wait—"

The Vulcan salute came up again. "Bye."

Dean looked at her for a moment, chuckled, and then went forward to hug her. "Okay, kiddo."

"No, seriously."

"Yeah," he said, opening the car door for her. "Yeah." She didn't know that he was lying. She didn't need to know that he was lying about figuring out whatever these fan-people had made of him and Cas.

 _Destiel_? Really? How was that such a fucking popular word?

"You take care," Charlie told Dean, and he waved her goodbye as she buckled herself in, and put her keys in the ignition. "Bye, Dean."

"See ya, Charlie."

That was the last time he saw Charlie alive. She never really got to hear the full story, of how Dean went back downstairs, and looked at Cas's eyes; deep pools of blue never leaving his gaze, and he'd had to turn away. She never really got to hear about it at all.

 **~o~**

Bathtubs will never be the same for Dean. He watches as Sam comes out and nods, looking pale because probably, like Dean, bathtubs will never be the same for him either. However, Dean thinks with a pang of anger, Sam hiving brought this upon them, doesn't have the right to act all PTSD about it. He doesn't have the fucking _right_.

Pushing his resentment towards Sam away to the back of his head, Dean bends over, getting an arm around Castiel's back, and the other under his knees. Cas is heavy; very heavy, and Dean has to balance himself a little, before he starts to promptly walk out of the room with Cas in his arms. Sam helps him out by coming over to take some of Castiel's weight, and together, they haul Cas into the bathroom, and into the bathtub.

Cas doesn't wake up. Not like Sam did when Dean had submerged him like this the last time. Instead, Dean watches as a swirl of red starts mixing with the clear bathwater.

"Shit," he mumbles, running a hand through his hair. Sam had left the room the moment they'd got Cas into the bathtub. Dean thinks of Charlie again, and his anger comes back but he grits his teeth against it. There's no point in all of that at this moment. He just needs to focus on the task at hand.

Charlie is gone. And if Dean isn't careful, Cas will be gone, too.

"Sam!" he calls out exhaustedly, trying to get Cas into a sitting position, but his hands are slipping against Cas's wet skin. His grip slides once, twice, and then he just sighs, leaning forward to rest his lips in the crook of Cas's damp, still-warm neck.

"Why, man?" he whispers. "Why can't we just catch a fucking break?"

 **~o~**

"So, is that how it's gonna work now? You're my other dad?"

Dean raised an eyebrow, casting a glance at Claire as she fiddled with the angel sword in her hands, not meeting eyes with him. He extended a hand, and took it from her. "Don't play with that."

"You didn't answer my question."

"Well, it's a stupid question," he said, clearing his throat and looking at the rear-view mirror, watching Cas's headlights.

"So I don't have to worry about a custody battle?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Seriously?"

"It's obvious," she said. "Castiel looks at you the way my real dad looked at Mom. I can tell, you know. They literally have the same face and all."

" _Dude_."

"Fine," she said. "I'll change the topic."

Dean looked at Claire again. Her face was still blotchy from crying and her hands were clenching and unclenching, lips pressed shut, like she was trying to divert her mind—like she was trying to avoid another round of tears. They had Amelia in the backseat so they could burn her later, and as Dean replayed the events from an hour ago in his mind, he felt guilty.

"If I do become your other dad," he said, feeling his heart leap at the very words, because seriously; he really wasn't fucking talking about this, "you'd just have tried to commit patricide when you got me that one time."

She kept silent for a while, and Dean wondered where his sense of humour had run off to, because that was the shittiest comeback he'd ever thought of. Beside him, Claire rolled her shoulders. "What can I say," she deadpanned, "I've had a lot of dads and they all left. So maybe I didn't trust the next couple of dudes trying to be my dads."

"I never tried to be your dad. Am not trying to be your dad."

"Oh _please_ ," she sighed. "Maybe I'm not part of the package that you want, but you two have got a whole romantic drama going on there."

"I lived with a woman and her son once," Dean remarked. "I'm not as awful as you think."

"So you really got the hots for Castiel? Are you admitting to that?"

"God, no."

"Liar."

Dean leaned back into the seat, pushing some at the gas pedal. "And here I have Hannah Montana, of all people, giving me advice on my so-called love life."

"Take it or leave it, Hasselhoff," she said. "And it isn't advice. It's the fucking truth."

Dean just drove on faster after that.

 **~o~**

Cas is still toasting. His body temperature is down by three degrees, but Dean feels the insane worry bubble inside of him when the thermometer reads a hundred and six degrees. He hears a rattle behind him and watches Sam walk over, a bottle of Tylenol in his hand. "I think we should just dose him up with the whole bottle," Sam sighs.

"You don't say."

Sam glances at the bowl of water at the foot of Cas's bed and crouches to pick it up. "I'll change the water in this."

"You do that."

Dean thinks he gets a flash of _hurt puppy_ from Sam when he sits down on the bed, feeling the rags on Castiel's forehead and neck as he hears the water streaming into the bowl. Maybe he wouldn't be so pissed at Sam if Charlie's death didn't burn his stomach like something caustic was sitting there. Maybe he wouldn't be so angry, if he could actually look at a bathtub without wanting to throw up because of all the nightmares of finding Charlie, bloody, cold and dead.

Sam did not respect Dean's wishes. Sam fucking went off on his own and paired up with that bitch—

"Hey."

He feels a nudge from his brother, and flinches again and watches as the hurt in Sam's eyes just intensifies.

"Thanks," Dean says, taking the bowl from Sam and beginning to pull off the rags from Cas's body.

Sam blinks a couple of times, swallows and nods. "I need coffee," he says tightly, before leaving the room. Dean doesn't turn around to look at him. Doesn't say that he wants coffee too.

Once Dean is happy with where the washcloths are placed on Cas he looks at the angel for a moment and wonders if it will get any worse if he grabs some caffeine. However, he knows that Cas won't get worse now, if not better, because he seems to be riding it out. He hesitates, almost pushes a hand to stroke aside Cas's hair but decides against it.

"I need a coffee too, Cas," he says instead, to his unconscious friend. "Do me a favour and keep that fever going down, okay?"

He casts a last glance at Cas before leaving the room for the kitchen.

 **~o~**

Dean could never say he'd seen Cas cry, but the multiple blinking and swallowing on Cas's part indicated a dangerous edge he was teetering on. Dean was pretty sure he didn't want to handle any angel breakdowns or outbursts, or even the confusion of Cas having to go through something like this for the very first time. So he waited in their motel room, seeing Cas watch as Claire's cab pulled away, and looked to Sam for damage control.

"We got any beer?"

"A six pack," said Sam. "You want one?"

"Yeah, get three. One for Cas."

Sam was silent for a moment. "You think he's gonna be okay?"

"Yeah. He's a tough guy, Sammy. Tougher than us."

"I never thought, you know," said Sam as he headed to the mini-fridge to extract the bottles, "when I first met him, I mean. That he'd ever be like… this."

"What, human?" The word surprised Dean too, because Cas was not exactly human. He wasn't an angel either. He was… _Cas_.

"Yeah."

"Well," Dean took his bottle from Sam and popped the lid off with his ring, "me either."

He watched Cas finally move from his spot, eyes downcast as he made his way to the room. He entered, loneliness and grief showing on every inch of him, and Dean felt his heart sink into his stomach as he patted at the place beside him. "Sit down, Cas. Have a drink."

Castiel eyed the beer wearily. "I think I might prefer something stronger."

"Seriously?"

He made his way to the door again. "I should be on my own for this, Dean. Message me when you and Sam leave town."

"Hey, hey," Dean stood up, putting his bottle on the table. "No one's gonna be alone, okay? You wanna talk? That's cool. First timers get a pass in this family."

He thought he heard a snort from Sam as he moved forward to put a hand on Castiel's shoulder. "Of course I won't impose, Cas, but do you want me to come along?"

Castiel thought a while before shrugging. "Okay." He pursed his lips. "I will miss Claire."

Dean grabbed his coat and put it on, gesturing for Sam to pack up so they could leave after getting Cas drunk, or whatever it was he wanted. "I know, man. I'm sorry." They headed out and Dean put an arm around Cas, taking him to the Impala. "Good thing we got alcohol for it, though. Don't you think?"

The hint of a smile passed over Castiel's lips. "You are a good friend, Dean."

Dean felt his ears grow red. "Yeah… well, shut up."

 **~o~**

Dean pours out a cup of coffee for himself, trying to ignore Sam, who is surreptitiously wiping at the corners of his eyes with his thumb. His other hand is curled around a mug of his own and Dean knows Sam's trying his best to avoid matching gazes with him. He takes a sip of coffee and puts it in front of Sam with a dull _thunk_ , causing his brother to startle and look up at him.

Dean sighs as he sits down and draws the cup closer. "You can stop your melodrama. I didn't let you die, did I?"

Sam swallows. "Thanks, man, I—"

"It's the cycle. We save each other, let other good people get screwed, and mess with the natural order."

"Then maybe you should have just killed me," Sam mumbles, and Dean thinks he hears a hint of annoyance in his voice. Who gave him the _right_ to be angry, though? Who fucking let him act all guilty and sad about this when it's all his fault?

Dean drains the last of his coffee away. "Every time you screw up, Sam, every time you pull something like this thinking I won't survive or that I'm too weak or some crap like that, people _die_. The last time you trusted an evil skank, Lucifer got out. This time—" he grits his teeth, irritated, as he looks at Sam, "you don't learn, do you?"

The magnitude of hurt that passes through Sam's eyes feels like a knife in Dean's heart and he curses all the goddamned empathy he has for the bastard. He's been wired to react to Sam being hurt or upset. He's been wired to take care of his brother. But damn him, Sam has done something worse than ever before. He got their _sister_ killed. And he trusted Rowena and that has led to Cas being cursed. _Cas_ …

Dean takes in the last of the burning coffee and stands up to put the mug in the sink. "Sam, if anything happens to Cas," he warns, "and I mean _anything_ …" he trails off, knowing Sam got the rest. _I won't forgive you. I won't fucking talk to you again._

Sam takes a shuddering breath and rises from his own seat, going over to put his mug in the sink as Dean follows. Sam's eyes are wet when he turns around, and his Adam's apple bobs. "Screw you," he says, in a thick voice. "Screw you."

He runs some water from the tap, cleans his cup and walks away, leaving Dean to deafening silence.

 **~o~**

"I never knew the delights of fatherhood until I met Claire again."

Dean nodded. "I understand, man. Even though I mostly thought that she was more a pain in your ass."

"And that's a delight too," said Cas. "You should know."

Dean pushed away his empty shot glass and shrugged as he remembered Ben. He'd been a good kid, mostly, not too rebellious, but then he'd also been just that, a _kid_ when Dean was living with Lisa and Ben. Teenagers were different, but a kid was a kid.

"I know," he said slowly. "I'm sorry."

There was silence. Castiel asked for another shot and Dean watched, not wanting to be drunk when they pulled out of the town tonight. The air around the bar was musty, noisy, and Dean's thoughts went back to the time when they'd spoken about Claire in a bar for the first time; him and Sam and Cas. He'd never expected to see Claire again. Never thought they'd come this far at all.

"We should leave," Cas said tiredly. "I know you're planning on leaving town."

"Hey, we can stay."

Blue eyes turned to Dean. "I'll be okay."

"You sure?"

"I'm an angel, Dean," said Castiel. "Nothing can get me."

Except this, apparently.

Dean pulled out his phone. "I'll text Sammy to make space for you. We'll stay the night."

Castiel looked at him for a whole minute, unblinking, and Dean turned away, feeling warmth rush up his cheeks as Charlie's words came back to him.

 _Eye-fucking_. Huh.

Dean hastily finished texting Sam. "Dude, blink sometimes," he managed to mumble, before placing some dollar bills underneath his shot glass and dragging his stool to stand up. He walked out of the bar without a backward glance at Castiel and found the Impala.

As he sat inside, he wondered what that was. Although, to be fair, it had a lot to do with Claire leaving, and Cas's crippling inability to deal with his emotions.

Well, okay, then. Cas got a pass. Just this once, like Dean had said.

He waited, watching Castiel find his meandering route to the Impala from between the bikes and cars. It was a weekend evening and the bar was crowded. Castiel entered the passenger side a moment later, and Dean turned the keys in the ignition. "We done there?"

"Yes."

"Sure?"

"Very."

"Okay, off we go."

It was a silent ride. Castiel looked out of the window the whole time, and Dean breathed deep to the wind that came in, sending chills through him. He thought of everything they had at hand, his limited time with his brother and Cas, and how things were changing so quick. Maybe he ought to call Charlie again, he thought. Tell her that her _Destiel_ theory or whatever, was crap.

Did Cas really stare a lot, though? Like this time?

They pulled outside of the motel in ten minutes, and the Impala fell quiet as Dean killed the engine. He was going to open the door, when he felt a hand on his wrist. "Dean."

He turned to Cas, who was staring at him the same way as before. Dean blinked, and then averted his gaze to Cas's nose.

"I will always be here," Cas continued.

He snapped his head up. "What?"

"I will always be around," Cas repeated. "I understand you're concerned about the Mark and the immortality in association."

"Okay." _Weird._

"And I am your friend," Cas continued. "You can be sure that even if everyone else has to leave due to death, I will be around. I will spend eternity with you."

Damn, did that sound like a marriage vow or what?

Dean cleared his throat. "Thanks, I guess."

"You're welcome."

Castiel was staring at him again. Even in the moonlight, his eyes were fucking blue. So blue. And his eyelashes. _Damn_. Like chicks—all long and curly.

Dean wondered, sometimes, wondered…

… Dean wondered why he was fucking staring back.

He cleared his throat again. "C'mon. Sam's waiting with some grub, I think."

He was about to unlock the door when a hand grabbed his shoulder and turned him around. Before he knew it, the same hands were pulling him by the shoulders to Castiel's face, and…

Their lips met.

Cas smelled like a distillery, tasted like one, and his lips were wet and squishy and weird. Dean felt his fists clenching as he brought them up, uncurling them around Cas's prickly, stubbled cheeks, and pulling away. Before him, Castiel was panting slightly, eyes wide, hair a little askew.

Dean frantically wiped his mouth at the back of his hand. "What the fuck was that?"

"I am sorry," Castiel replied. "You seemed to have not enjoyed it."

"Of course I didn't—in what universe, Cas?" Dean spat. "In what universe did you think I'd be up for this?"

"I made my feelings clear."

"The eternity thing? That one?"

Castiel swallowed. "I might have not expressed myself correctly."

"Damn right you didn't" Dean snapped at him. He opened the car door. "C'mon. We're getting you another room."

Castiel didn't question it, except, "It's a waste of good money, Dean. I don't even sleep."

"I don't care."

Dean was walking to the reception now, Castiel following swiftly behind. "My sincerest apologies, Dean," he said in a grave voice.

Dean almost snorted. "This isn't a fucking funeral, and you don't breathe a word to Sammy about this."

"Agreed."

"Good. Come on."

As they got Cas a new motel room, they didn't notice that Sam had been standing right at the window, peering from a chink in the curtains and laughing his ass off.

 **~o~**

"Still more of the same, huh?" Dean asks Cas as he places the back of his palm on the angel's forehead. "You're a fucking stubborn bastard, you know that?"

There is a moment of silence, and then Cas moans.

Dean feels his eyes widen. "Hey. Cas?"

"D-Dean…" Cas whispers in the lowest of whispers, eyes moving beneath their lids, and Dean feels relief like never before.

"Cas? Hey!" He clutches Castiel's shoulder, almost dizzy with relief and happiness, as he wonders where Sam has sulked off to. "Sam! Sammy!"

Sam doesn't reply, nor does he emerge from his brooding, so Dean shakes Castiel a little. "You awake? Cas?"

Castiel groans pitifully, his body still too warm and eyes still too shadowed as they open, narrow slits exposing him to his surroundings. His sclerae are red-rimmed, and a drop of blood wells up at the corner and trickles down his temple.

"Dean?" he whispers, looking beyond confused.

Dean finds himself grinning. "Welcome back, buddy," he says, running his wrist over Castiel's temple to catch the blood. "You've been gone for a long time."

"Where?"

"Rowena's curse-land, apparently." Dean grabs Cas's wrist. "But we'll get her. We'll get her, yeah?"

Cas licks his lips. "Yes." He lets out a short breath as he takes in his surroundings. "Where is Sam?"

"In his room. Sulking, probably."

"How's he doing?"

Dean snorts. "How d'ya think?"

Castiel observes Dean. "Horribly, I should guess. From your expression."

"Nah, he's okay."

"Are you sure?"

"Very."

 **0**

A few miles away Sam walks at a steady pace, hands in his pockets. He'd left the bunker after all of Dean's jabs at the dining room, because he can't take this anymore. As if the crippling guilt all these years wasn't enough, there's more shit that's happened because of him. More people who have died. He needs to set things right.

He's got work to do.

 **~o~**

 **Cas [8:37 AM]**

I am sorry I kissed you. :*

 **Cas [8:37 AM]**

The kiss emoticon was a mistake.

 **Cas [8:38 AM]**

I like the emoticon. And the heart. Very clever.

 **Cas [5:13 PM]**

I really apologise, Dean.

 **Cas [6:26 PM]**

Are you still angry?

 **Cas [8:15 PM]**

I understand

 **Cas [8:15 PM]**

I believe I forgot the period in that last one. I understand.*

 **Cas [9:32 PM]**

Dean?

Dean put his phone away and wiped a hand down his face. This was ridiculous. This was fucking ridiculous. When did it get so weird in Cas's head when it came to Dean? And why the fuck couldn't Dean just catch a fucking break around here?

"Dean?"

Sam's voice echoed from one of the hallways as Dean pocketed his phone and stood up. He watched his brother emerge into the war room, carrying his own phone in one hand.

"Cas is worried about you," Sam said without preamble.

"Really?"

"Has he texted you?"

"He might have."

"Just check your texts and reply, man," said Sam. "Or call him. You know how he's gotten since Claire…"

"Yeah," Dean replied gruffly. "I'll check my phone."

He watched Sam walk away before sighing and pulling out his phone.

 **Dean [9:40 PM]**

stop txtng shit man..u pulld sme crap i gt it.. NW DNT TALK ABT IT

 **Cas [9:40 PM]**

Your spelling, grammar and punctuation are dismal.

 **Dean [9:41 PM]**

cas. _|_ ok?

 **Cas [9:41 PM]**

I don't understand that emoticon.

 **Dean [9:42 PM]**

guess

 **Cas [9:42 PM]**

Oh… You are very obscene. However, I will respect your wishes and will not talk to you again about our kiss.

The next time Castiel had brought up their entangled eternities and his marriage-vow-worthy speech again, Dean had beaten him and his face to a pulp. After that, he'd gotten stinking drunk and seen Cas everywhere for hours, his face bloody and accusatory.

Dean thought he deserved the guilt for doing that to Cas. Although, before he could apologise, Cas was already screwed up by Rowena.

 **~o~**

Sam's vision is blurry by the time he's at her side. He stares at the wooden cross, carved with the Men of Letters sigil, sitting there in the middle of the trees in a solitary mark of respect to what he and Dean have just lost.

Really, who do they have left in their family right now? Cas? Jody?

Cas is dying too. He's dying as Sam sits here, stewing in self-pity.

He feels pathetic as the tears push themselves out of his eyes, streaking down his cheeks steadily. He's never done anything right by Dean. He's always disappointing Dean. That church wasn't the last time, and he's sure that this time isn't the last either.

The Darkness, or whatever this is, it's upon them now. Real and dangerous, like another apocalypse. Sam remembers the fear while they were stuck in Dean's car. The expectation of being dead when the dark cloud cleared, of being in Hell, but the surprise at being alive still. The drive home in comfortable silence, because Dan wasn't angry anymore; wasn't disappointed.

Sam remembers how all of that felt.

Later, Crowley had showed up at their doorstep with an unconscious, feverish Cas. When Dean had gotten to know that Cas might die because of what Rowena did to him, and all this because of Sam's obsessive need to chase after the cure for the Mark, all comfortable silences had vanished for pure, unadulterated fury.

There was someone else who could die because Sam fucked up. This time, it was _Cas_. Cas, who Dean's been in fucking love with for God-knows-how-long, but has been too stupid to realise. Cas, who Dean might just start working on his feelings for because Sam saw them kiss and he knows Dean's been thinking about the whole situation ever since.

Dean is right. It should be Sam up there instead of Charlie. Sam isn't deserving of any forgiveness. And Dean will never get Sam. He'll never get what Sam really ever meant or wanted. Maybe he should do what he was meant to do in the first place.

He wipes away some more tears and uncovers the things he's got with him. He looks up at the cross again, at Charlie. "This is for you," he says. "You deserve life more than I do. Make sure Dean's okay, yeah? And that he realises the Cas thing. You know… what we talked about that one time?" He smiles. "I know you'll be pissed when you're back, but this is for the best. I guess you might understand that someday. Dean too."

Sam spreads the black cloth over Charlie's grave and extracts his knife, taking a deep breath as he feels his carotid with one hand. It's strong and steady, beating against his fingers with a vengeance, and he moves his knife to make a small nick at his forearm, watching as a stream of thick blood emerges.

He chants, fingering some of the blood, drawing some patterns with it on the cloth and he watches the amazing, yellow glow that emerges on Charlie's grave. Then he lifts the knife to his carotid.

"See you, Charlie."

He takes a shuddering breath, more tears leaking out of his eyes. "Sorry, Dean."

 **The End**

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you for reading! I will write more in this 'verse, and mark all of them as [THMBMS 'verse] if you're fishing them out in the future! There will be sequels, as well as some timestamps explaining specific parts. You will know what Sam did in the next installment, and what pushed him to do it, too.

Hope you enjoyed this one, and that you decide to keep following! Reviews are awesome! :)

 **Review response:**

 **Guest:** Thank you! :D


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